


Twas A Cold November's Eve.

by sgtcyanide221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:26:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgtcyanide221b/pseuds/sgtcyanide221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone; Jim finds solace in the peace and quiet before the fire. With his adopted son, awaiting the arrival of the third part, and perhaps most important part of their family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twas A Cold November's Eve.

It was cold, bitterly so for the November evening. A fire was crackling in the grate; the glow of the flames casting gargantuan shadows along the walls, distorting the cavern like living room into an extravagant light display of the dancing flames, working harmoniously alongside the shadows. 

Sebastian was somewhere in London, Jim thought morosely. It had been well over a week since he had last seen his fiancé. In between the haphazard phone calls which the pair had shared, contact had been minimal. Of course, it was for Sebastian’s own safety. There was little point in risking his safety, simply for the sake of a conversation. 

Since the weather had taken a turn for the worst, Jim had stopped going to scheduled meetings as regularly, instead favouring the living room of the town house, curled beneath one of the blankets on the sofas; a thick, fur lined thing; a ‘gift’ from one of the clients, whom Jim and Seb had interviewed in his home. Jim had taken a fancy to the selection of furs, almost immediately following his words, Sebastian had slung them over his shoulder and left the building; not a word needed be exchanged about the event. Suffice it to say that Jim appreciated Sebastian’s actions, in that he hadn’t needed to ask, he had simply said that he liked something, usually an indicator that he had designs of purchasing something similar. 

Michael, the small boy dozed peacefully in his crib beside of Jim’s current position; leaning back against the sofa, staring wistfully into the flames, contemplating the searing heat, and its destructive power, and yet, how it was possible to tame fire and use it one’s own end. He had; and, for that reason, since that day, he and fire had been one. Unable to shake the lingering desire for fire and destruction, Jim had channelled his love of fire into his other pursuits: threats centring on fire, simply for that reason.  
The youngster was unaware of the extravagant decorations which adorned the room, predominantly for his benefit. Jim hadn’t celebrated Christmas, prior to meeting Sebastian. He found the whole commercialisation of sacred Christian holiday, to be garish and pointless. Then, he had met Sebastian, and the Holiday, no longer felt cheap. In fact, now that he had somebody to share it with, it felt entirely more acceptable. Usually; the pair exchanged their gifts on Christmas morning… at least, what Jim termed the main gifts. Jim insisted on handing over the smaller selection he had undoubtedly purchased, on Christmas Eve. 

This was a tradition which wasn’t about to change. In fact; while Sebastian had been away, Jim had already been shopping for several smaller items. All of which now resided deep inside of Michael’s closest, far from where Sebastian may stumble across them. A grin spread across Jim’s face wearily, as he thought about the day when he would be able to hand them over to Sebastian. This was the final thought which crossed his mind, before he slipped into a dreamless sleep. His hand curled around the blanket, as if clutching at a hand which was nowhere to be seen. The ring on his finger seemed ablaze from the reflection of the fire.

Some-time later; a cold breeze whipped around the living room, causing the flames of the fire to flicker; this cold was what awoke Michael: crying incessantly, wailing and whimpering, until a pair of strong, yet careful hands had plucked him from his comfort, and held him firmly against a broad, well-toned chest. Carefully, Sebastian lowered himself onto the floor beside of Jim, tucking his body beneath the blanket and slipping his hand into the phantom grip, smiling to himself when he felt the criminal’s fingers tighten on his. 

“As wonderful as it is to watch you sleep,” Seb grinned; his voice a soft whisper, lips against Jim’s cheek, “It’s been a week since I saw you and you were the one who was insisting on being my welcome committee.”

Almost thinking he was dreaming, Jim ignored the cold, frowned at the crying and refused to believe the hand in his own, however, despite himself, he did have to check that this was no longer a dream. Even his mind was incapable of creating Sebastian’s voice to such an accurate level. Daydreams, in which Sebastian featured, were usually silent. No words were shared. 

Finally; Jim forced his eyes open, meeting Sebastian’s curious gaze, with his own. “I thought you weren’t due back until later tonight –“ Jim cut himself off mid-sentence and glanced out of the bay windows. “Ah, yes. Well…” His face flushed. “That might explain it, then.” He muttered quietly, leaning down to brush his fingers across Michael’s cheek. “Papa’s home, kiddo.”

Sebastian observed the exchange and couldn’t help but giggle. “For a consulting criminal; some would think you’re going soft.” He noted, stifling a further giggle, hiding it through a yawn. 

Jim shot him a glare. “I’d hardly call it going soft.” He pouted. “I’d call it trying to have a family and my own career.”

Nodding; a small, knowing smile lingering on the corner of his lips, Seb handed Michael over and held his hands up. “Alright, alright. Sorry.”

“Much better, Bastian.” Jim grinned. “You missed me?”

“Always, Kitten,” came the soft reply, followed by an equally tender kiss. 

No vocal response followed, instead ,Jim leaned back into Sebastian, nuzzling against his chest and, mirroring the movement with his son, holding him to his chest; Michael’s face buried into the crook of his neck. 

This was the life. Peace. Quiet. Family. Even for a consulting criminal. Jim couldn’t help but smile.


End file.
